


Surprise Circumstance

by mutemail



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Mugging, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, handjobs, kind of??, mutual handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutemail/pseuds/mutemail
Summary: Waylon lives in a cruel, unfair world. He's lost his job, his car, his apartment, and is on his way to losing his mind as well. It is also a world where you cannot hurt your soulmate. This world comes crashing down at a mugging gone awry and only seems to be getting stranger before getting better. Based off a prompt on Tumblr.
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park
Comments: 19
Kudos: 184





	Surprise Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again everyone! I intentionally wanted this to be a multi-chapter sort of deal but I just ended up making it a one-off. Check the bottom notes for a link to an Outlast discord server I've created if you're interested in joining. As always, I hope you enjoy the writing.

Waylon licks his lips, tongue darting out quickly before his teeth scrape after it, further irritating the dry skin. His eyes dart from side to side somewhat nervously while surveying the empty street. It’s a bit after six in the evening and mostly everyone has already gotten home from their cookie-cutter job to their white picket fence and their wife and two-and-a-half children with a smile on their face more from habit than happiness. All Waylon can think about are missed opportunities. Bitterness feels heavy on his tongue.

It isn’t due to lack of trying. Waylon’s tried all his life to fit in and secure his happy ending, whatever that meant. It was more an effort to impress his parents. To make his father content at the son he’d raised and quell his mother’s anxieties that her little boy wouldn’t settle down. He’s never found his soul-mate but as this world gains more and more people it gets harder and harder to find them. It’s not every day you stumble across someone that you have the chance to _test_ it.

Waylon sighs and dips his shoulder to lean against the building beside him, feeling the rough bricks catch on the fabric of his hoodie. A car drives past through a shallow puddle that splashes onto the pavement. He drags the tip of his shoe across the damp pavement. His eyes drag back up through the reflection of a flickering streetlight to the stores across the street. A door swings open a couple shops down to reveal a broad figured male. Chattering and music pours from the door until it shuts with the tingle of a bell and the man makes his way across the road then towards Waylon.

Grey suit and matching slacks. The blond squints a little. Maybe leather shoes? Hard to tell. Not shoes for the weather, surely. Could this be someone from out of town? Maybe they don’t care and can buy a new pair at the drop of a hat. Bitterness spreads in his chest. To live a life of luxury. _Rich fucking bastard._

Light catches the metal of a watch on the man’s wrist. Flaunting. He’s flaunting. Waylon’s face twists into a scowl and he quickly looks to the man’s face. Clean cut and shaven. His hair is a thick strip of pure black in mohawk fashion, the sides shaved bare. The man looks relaxed, perhaps with the twitch of a smile on his lips, completely at ease. It fills Waylon with rage that he scrambles to contain. There’s no reason to lose his cool before he has the chance to act.

Waylon takes a long step out onto the side-walk in the other man’s path and turns on his heel, stopping with both hands in the front pouch of his hoodie. He steadies a firm stare up at him. Immediately, he realizes this was perhaps not the best idea. The other man has at least a head on Waylon height wise and is perhaps a bit more built than the earlier distance allowed him to see. His resolved expression wavers slightly. The dark haired man stops with his head cocked.

“Yes? Can I help you?” His voice is smooth and rich, threatening to scoop Waylon up in a warm embrace. The blond tightens his grip on the handles of his switchblade for encouragement. _Just once. Just once and I can get a bed tonight._ Waylon clears his throat and steps diagonally to block the path further and goad the dark haired man towards the alley. He doesn’t budge.

“Gimme your wallet and you don’t have to get hurt.” Waylon removes the silver encased knife with a flourish. He keeps a firm grip on the safe handle while flipping out both the bite handle and the blade, twisting his wrist to the right and the safe handle at the same time, then snapping them back to keep the handles flushed and cutting edge outstretched towards the stranger with a shine from the streetlight.

Before he can open his mouth for another threat, the stranger leaps forward and snatches up his right wrist in one over-sized hand, the other clapping onto his back as Waylon is shoved ungracefully into the alley. A yelp of surprise leaves him. He drops the knife before skidding across the wet pavement, skin burning under his sleeves from the scrape. Waylon rolls onto his back. Scrambles to stand and push the bangs out of his eyes.

The light from the street is blocked by a hulking figure. A hulking figure that Waylon had just tried to _rob_ at knife-point. The man comes forward and scoops Waylon up under the arms before turning and slamming the smaller man into the brick alley wall, a sneer on his face. Waylon makes an indignant noise at being manhandled. This was _probably_ not a good idea. A truly terrible decision. Ranking the highest on lists of bad decisions that Waylon Park has ever made in his life. Horrible.

“Who do you think you are to steal from me?” The other man is a towering figure taking up all of Waylon’s vision. He puts on a brave face before kicking out quickly. He rabbit kicks for his life, gasping as his arms are released from their bind and the other man falls back towards the opposite wall with confusion etched on his face. No time to unpack that right now. Waylon dives for where his switchblade fell and readies it back in his grip.

Meanwhile, the other man still hasn’t moved from where he’s been pushed to; his expression has changed from honest confusion to dawning realization as his eyes lock onto Waylon with something akin to awe. The blond man runs forward while the chance has been presented, jabbing the cutting edge of the blade into the man’s stomach with a snarl.

“Listen to me and listen good, hand over your fucking wallet. You can spare it I’m sure. Just give me a break, man, I need this money more than you know.” Waylon digs in the blade but the other man remains passive, if not a bit smug. Anger flashes over his face. “Are you patronizing me? Don’t make fun of me you--.”

“Just stop talking.”

Waylon balks. His grip on the knife loosens and it’s his turn to tilt his head in confusion. He watches the other man raise his eyebrows and look down between them to where he’s been stabbed. Waylon glances down too, not understanding the fuss. He follows the line of his wrist where his fingers are curled tightly, shaking a bit, around the silver handles leading up to the blade digging into the--.

_ “What?” _

The blade rests harmlessly against the man’s rib cage. It’s torn through the shirt but does nothing but create a red mark from the pressure of the blade. Waylon had been sure that there was power in his swing. How is this possible? He swipes the blade across the visible patch of skin to cut a thin line but nothing appears. The realization hits him all at once.

_"Oh God.”_ He gasps out, stumbling backwards. All the color drains from his face and settles in a freezing cold heap in his stomach. The knife didn’t do any damage. Was that why he’d look so confused when he was kicked? Did it not hurt? Waylon takes another step backwards with horror streaking his face. His eyes flit back and forth between the blade and the healthy skin that seems to taunt him.

“Well hello, darling, it seems that we are on the same page now. Quite the troublemaker you’ve proven to be..” The figure advances on Waylon until his back is pressed against the wall and the knife hangs limply at his side. “Quite foolish of you to pick a fight with someone so much bigger than you.”

Waylon feels heavy hands come under the bottoms of his thighs and scoop him into the air. The stranger falls in between his legs, pressed flush to him, and views Waylon at eye level. He scrambles for purchase only to drop his knife again in the progress. Not like it would do any good anyhow. The blond meets the stranger’s gaze with one of shy embarrassment.

“I can’t find it in me to be mad, though.” The man muses. He pulls Waylon up higher to get a firmer grip. The blond’s thighs drape over either side of the other man’s hips and he curls them tight, hanging on for dear life. “I suppose I should introduce myself. Eddie Gluskin. And you are?”

“Waylon Park.” It’s a miracle that he can speak at all, as dry as his mouth feels.

Time seems to slow as they gaze at each other, compromised, and even the rain seems more sluggish than just a moment ago. They blink in turn before everything returns to normal. Now things feel frantic. Time is rushing by and they’re grabbing at each other like they’ll never have another opportunity to do so. Waylon braces against the brick wall to scoot himself up, trying to grind against Eddie while mouthing at the firm line of his jaw. He nips and kisses at the pale skin until a growl leaves him pulling back. There’s a flash of something _primal_ in the other man’s eyes that makes his skin crawl in a particularly pleasant way.

Soon hands are scrambling over zippers and buttons in an act of desperation as they seek out their prizes. Eddie makes way first, sliding his hand home into the fabric of Waylon’s boxers before curling his heavy fingers around the twitching length, letting the warm palm of his hand apply the barest hint of pressure that makes the blond’s breath hitch deliciously. A smarmy grin spreads over his lips. Waylon gives a huff as he fights with Eddie’s belt, growing angry and simply yanking until it gives loose.

“Desperate, are we?” Eddie’s hot breath falls over Waylon’s reddened cheeks. He pushes at the fabric of Waylon’s jeans to make things a bit easier, clearing the way to stroke him properly. The pad of his thumb teases the sensitive skin under the leaking head of Waylon’s cock. He watches as the shorter male struggles to stay concentrated enough to dip his hand below Eddie’s waistband and grope at him.

“Shut up,” Waylon grits out a snarl that lacks any true venom.

A laugh falls from the taller male as he flicks his wrist, letting Waylon return the favor with an enticingly warm palm. The first couple strokes are measured as he tries to tease more expressions from Waylon.

“But how can I when you make it known just how this pleases you.” He increases the pressure behind his thumb and Waylon’s breath hitches. The blond tugs Eddie’s cock into the space between them, wasting no time in giving a couple pumps of his hand to return the favor. He tilts up his chin to capture Eddie in an open-mouthed kiss.

Eddie drags his teeth over Waylon’s lip, relishing in the taste of him. He adjusts his grip without breaking away or pausing the languid movements of his hand. Rain patters down on them from the clouds rolling above; the streetlight by the alley flickers. Eddie dips down to suck a mark onto the side of Waylon’s throat with a rumble in his chest.

For all their physical differences, the advantage of a large palm versus nimble fingers, they both find themselves teetering on the edge sooner than expected. Waylon wriggles against him with a cut-off whimper. He redoubles his efforts, even using both hands to try and get Eddie off before him. A frantic, teasing race. As desperately as he wants to drag this out there’s the nagging in his chest, a pleasant burn, that reminds him how _public_ this alley is.

A twist of his wrist is what finally does Eddie in. His own strokes run together or out of rhythm completely when he spills over Waylon’s delicate hands. He sucks in a gasp before kissing him hotly and rubbing fervently on the head of Waylon’s cock, feeling rewarded when he feels the blond’s legs seize and clench against his thighs.

Waylon sags against the wall with a couple shallow gasps, completely spent. The blush on his cheeks is providing a nearly unbearable heat that scattered raindrops cannot even hope to quench. The rain is a bit heavier now, soaking into the shoulders of their shirts and Waylon’s middle where he’s leaned back and exposed.

Eddie scoops up the mess of come onto the pads of his fingers before sucking them clean with a wink, gunning for a reaction. Waylon’s face twitches in embarrassment and he averts his eyes before taking his own fingers into his mouth. He licks a stripe up his palm before dipping his head over his middle and pointer finger, cutting his eyes up to lock into Eddie’s with the hint of a smirk on his lips. _Two can play at that game._

“What do you say to coming home with me tonight, darling? I can cook us something to eat and get you out of these clothes. Yes?” Eddie gently lowers Waylon until he’s standing back on two feet then clasps the man’s hands in his own, ducking down to eye level. He flashes a smile.

“I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos & comments fuel my writing! I've also started my own Outlast server that's Waylon/Eddie centric, we're just starting out but anyone and everyone is welcome as long as you are 18+
> 
> Read more about it, and find how to join, [here](https://deathgardens.tumblr.com/post/190729973021/outlast-discord-server-18)!


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